


Love and Trust in Me - In Us

by Jayxm



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Also Yasha centric, Angst, Around Episode 111, Asexual Caduceus Clay, Asexual Character, Awkward Flirting, Beau's sex addiction, Comfort, Coping, Crackhead theories, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Yasha, Psychological Torture, Slowly became more M9 oriented and Beau centric, Spoilers until 111, Still Beauyasha, Therapy, Torture, Trauma, beau centric, molly's grave, no beta we die like men, working through some shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27114817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayxm/pseuds/Jayxm
Summary: Beau and Yasha seem to be ironing out their individual issues with the help of some of the Nein. When they go to Molly's grave and some old iron chains find their way back around Beau, how do they get her back and piece together the puzzle?Torture and Beau/Yasha, but lots of Cad being good and some interesting name connections I'm making into lore.Currently, planning on ~4 chapters?
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett & Yasha, Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, Caduceus Clay & Beauregard Lionett, Caduceus Clay/Caleb Widogast if you squint, Fjord & Jester Lavorre, Fjord/Jester Lavorre
Comments: 21
Kudos: 156





	1. We Don't Leave Our Friends Behind

Caduceus sits crosslegged on the lower floor of the tower, his eyes closed peacefully in tranquil meditation. The door was left open, and one member of the Mighty Nein remained absent. Beauregard had left hours ago and hadn’t returned. Caduceus casually mentioned it to Caleb not too long prior, worry seeping into his tone.

“If it’s open, what if someone random enters? Are we safe?” Caduceus tilts his head. “We should at the very least stay up and wait for her.” 

A few of the servant cats slip into the room, curious at the abundance of questions between the two.

“Ja. We’re safe Caduceus. Should someone enter our room - illegally I’d add - and then proceed inside, they don’t know how this space functions. They’d probably find themselves stuck on this bottom floor.” Caleb shrugs and Frumpkin wraps jealousy around his leg. “As for Beau? She’s probably fine. In a place like this, she’s probably just looking for some action. You know Beau.” 

“Uh. I might be missing something here? What do you mean?” Caduceus ticks his head to the side, his long pink hair flowing to the side. 

“Oh. You weren’t here when that was a big thing. Ehm… Beau sometimes gets… eh... physical in moments of stress.”

“Physi- oh. Oh.” Caduceus’s voice is high in question, then deepens in realization. From time to time he’d seen her get flirty, and recently with Reani... But he hadn’t quite recognized it as a more serious pattern. 

“You think - oh. Oh. Uhm… well. That’s… so you mean to say-” 

“I forgot you weren’t there before. Before we met you it was much worse, when our friend passed, she was having a hard time, and uh… dealt with that her own way.” Caleb picks Frumpkin up contentedly in his arms, who hisses down at the other cats in mockery. “She felt very alone - like she had done wrong by him and by us. She had gotten very close with our friend Molly - and I wouldn’t be surprised to find this Molly talk has gotten her, ehm, frustrated?”

Caduceus tilts his head and furrows his brow as if rolling over the ideas in his head. 

“Trust me - I can’t explain it… I don’t understand it. But it’s how she copes and who am I to judge.” He frowns gently at the taller man. “We all have things we need to work through. It would probably good for her to have some friendly company when she gets back though.”

“Although be wary, she might try and bring someone inside here for bragging rights.” He stifles a chuckle. “Would hate for you to see that, ja?” 

Caduceus smiles warmly with a nod. “I’ll stay down and wait for her, just to be sure. Thank you, Caleb.” 

Caleb floats upwards through the open gap in the ceiling, Frumpkin nestled in his arms. “Good night, Caduceus.” 

Sitting peacefully down again in quiet contemplation, he lets a beetle run down the tip of his finger. Although time doesn’t seem to pass into a deeper night through the stained glass windows, the clock hands spiral and spirals as the hours pass later and later into the night. Eventually, the door slams shut and Caduceus’s eyes snap open. 

Beau stands in the doorway, hair rustled and eyes wide, she stands on the balls of her feet with a flighty stance. 

“Uh. Sup Caduceus.” She stammers out and her eyes scan the room. 

“Nothing much. I was just waiting to make sure you got back okay.” He smiles and the beetle’s wings buzz as it flies back into the holes of his staff. 

“Well- that’s cool. I’m back now... so I’m just gonna - go...” She tiptoes past him and begins to float upward, but he snags her ankle and pulls her back down.

“Not so fast. This is something we should talk about.” He drawls is a paternal reproach. Beau doesn’t quite recognize it. 

“Talk? About what? We’re all good here Cad-Dad.” A forced grin splits her face. 

“Your coping mechanisms. We should talk about what’s bothering you.” He softens. “These means of coping aren’t healthy. If you only pluck the flowers, the roots still stay and you can never pull the weeds.” 

Beau’s eyes narrow. “Is that a euphemism?” 

“I guess you could call it that. This isn’t addressing the roots, Beauregard.” He tilts his head. “We care about you.”

“This?” She cocks her head. “What do you mean  _ this?”  _

“Your… endeavors.” She tilts her head further. “Escapades?” Further. “Uh… relations?” He’s blushing faintly now and no further understanding seems to have reached her. “Your fleeting physical relationships.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah oh.”

“Why couldn’t you just say that?” She chuckles faintly, looser than before. Caduceus shrugs and lets out a soft sigh. 

“Advice may be a strong suit of mine but eh… sexuality not so much.” He looks to the door and she laughs. It’s soft and joking, but not mocking. 

“Well uh… then I guess you’ll be pleased to know I wasn’t out there getting smashed.” She chuckles again, but her eyes are soft. 

“Caleb mentioned...”

“Caleb?” She groans. “Oh, I’m going to fight him in the morning.” She sighs. “But seriously though that’s not - I wasn’t doing any of that. I haven’t in a while actually.” 

“No?” He gestures at her disheveled form. 

“No. This is from a bar fight. Accidental I swear! Not another unhealthy coping mechanism. Promise.” 

“What’s changed then?” Caduceus sits down again, gesturing to the space on the floor opposite him. She hesitates. “Think of it as a group meditation. You have to work through your thoughts.” Cautiously, Beau seats herself.

“Well uh… I don’t know. Maybe it’s just that I’m happier? I feel wanted and loved… with the Mighty Nein and maybe that’s helped?” She crosses her legs and sighs, palms up in her lap. 

“Did you feel wanted and loved when you sought out… other relationships?” Beau stops to consider.

“I don’t know about loved - but definitely wanted.” She murmurs and hums appreciatively. 

“Did you stop when you began to feel wanted here? Or when you began to want?” A crease forms between her eyebrows.

“I’m not sure. Maybe both. Because… I mean… It wasn’t that I didn’t have wants or desires before. They just hadn’t been reciprocated. Now it’s mutual. I want the Nein and they want me. I - I’m starting to want and like myself a lot more too…” She sighs and her eyes drift up in thought.

“And… there’s Yasha.” Her eyes twinkle. 

“Yes. There is Yasha.” Caduceus smiles at her musings. “What about Yasha?” 

She chuckles and glances at him with a knowing smirk. She can see flashes of white wings and skin, sometimes blood and tears leak their way in but she blinks them out of her thoughts quickly. 

“It’s getting kind of hard to even think about anyone else anymore.” She sighs. “And it’s so complicated.” 

“You love her.” Caduceus whispers and Beau’s cheeks flush a deep red. 

“I- I don’t know how to phrase it yet. It’s not something I’ve really... fully... felt before?” She rubs her foot against her ankle nervously. “But she’s… something else.” 

Caduceus smiles. “You should go talk to her.” He puts a hand on her shoulder. “The fact you’ve been working on yourself for the better is a good sign.” 

“Thanks, Caduceus.” She stands up and makes her way to the circle, before pausing to look back at him. “Sorry for uh- weirding you out back there. I get you’re not really into that stuff, and that’s cool and all. You can uh. Talk to me about stuff if you want to. Too. Uh.”

“Thanks, Beau. Goodnight.” 

He sits cross-legged for a few moments longer as Beau floats up towards her room. The beetle crawls out of the knot in his staff and tickles its way back down to his finger. He pulls it up in front of his face to look at it closer, a soft smile on his lips. 

“I think our friend is doing much better, little guy - don’t you think?” 

* * *

Surrounded by the doors to all of the rooms, Beau hesitates. Her own door remains, but the other beckons her. Behind it is surely rows of flowers and the smell of pollen, the taste of thunder. She ponders for a moment if this is the calling that Yasha feel when a storm rolls over with fog and petrichor in its wake. Her hand balls into a fist at the center of the door, but fails to make contact. It drops back to her side for a moment, before she snaps her fist up again and knocks, not giving herself enough time to think it over. 

She waits and waits, unwilling to knock again. Time passes in what feels like ages, before the door creaks open, the dark-haired woman peeking out behind it. 

“Uh, hey Yasha.” She puts her hand on the back of her head, scratching at the shaggy shave of her undercut that’s beginning to grow out. 

“Um. Hello.” Yasha looks around. “Do you… need something Beau?” 

“Oh uh… yeah. I wanted to uh-”

“Your hair is growing out.” Yasha’s gaze fixates and Beau’s mouth hangs open. 

“Uhm… yes. It is. Uh…” 

“How about you come in and... I can give you a shave? And we can talk about uhm… whatever you wanted to. Talk about I mean...” Yasha stammers, twiddling her fingers together. Beau nods vigorously. 

“Yeah, that sounds… good. Great. Yeah.” 

Beau follows her into the floral room, the soothing air quieting her nerves. The soft lull and swing of gentle harp melodies play from a few rooms deeper - her bedroom? Yasha pulls out a chair, gesturing for Beau to take a seat. A nicer razor appears in Yasha’s hand from some undisclosed drawer or tabletop.

“After giving Caleb a shave last time he thought some more… safe… tools were in order.” Yasha hums, bringing the blade to the back of Beauregard’s neck, caressing over the jade tattoo spiraling down her spine.

“I clearly didn’t think this through. Having this discussion with a neck to my throat might not have been the best idea…” Beau tenses, and Yasha’s calloused thumbs run comfortingly down her shoulder.

“I won’t hurt you, Beau.” She whispers. Beau exhales and almost nods, before recalling the edge of the blade on her neck. 

“Yeah, yeah I know you won’t.” Beau rubs the soft inside of her wrists. “Uhm. Yeah. So - I thought that maybe we should talk about the thing we… really haven’t been talking about. That... uh - we should probably address. Cuz this is something we should - uh - talk about.” 

Yasha stills her ministrations with the razor, contemplating with a stoic face. Her fingertips linger on the eye on her neck. 

“Cuz we gotta address the uh - roots? Yknow?” Beau’s voice trickles up in questioning.

“Yknow?”

“Ye yknow?” 

“I… know?” 

“Yeah.”

They remain frozen in place, Beau chewing at her lip and her eyes drifting to her feet. Yasha lets out a long exhale.

“I don’t know what we’re talking about here Beau.” She nervously admits and runs her finger down her spine. 

“Yeah. That’s fair.” Beau nods. “I know with all this Molly stuff coming up we’re all on edge… and I know you wanted to be there… and…”

Now this was not the direction Beau had initially intended to go. If she were being honest with herself, initially she had no plan and just wanted to talk and be in her company. But she had set an expectation for a… expectation. So a mental wellness checkup was the best option right? Way better than actually talking about feelings and stuff. 

“Yeah. That’s true.” Yasha whispers. 

“And uh… I know some tough stuff got brought up for you recently… like… Obann. And… I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay? Felt like you were getting your footing and… you’ve been… lighter? So I just wanted to make sure you were okay…”

“What if Molly is a puppet?” Yasha huffs, and Beau blinks, unsure.

“What do you mean?”

“What if they woke him up… and he’s still in there… but he’s doing bad things. Things he’d regret if he were himself?” Yasha’s voice is low and gruff, Beau almost wants to turn and see if there are tears in her eyes but she doesn’t know if she can take that.

“Then we’d get him back.” 

Beau swallows her fears, the razor long dropped, and turns around. Yasha’s eyes are downcast and damp, only now does she notice the faint touch of her fingertips on one of Beau’s scars. One - she can’t help but recognize - Yasha gave her. 

“Yasha…” Beau hums and thumbs a falling tear off her cheek. “If Molly is in there - we’ll save him.” Yasha nods gingerly, and looks up to meet her eyes. 

“Just like we saved you. We don’t leave our friends behind. Right?” 

“Right.” She nods but her mouth curves down into a frown. 

Yasha’s hand drifts to Beau’s midsection, where under her robes, a massive scar lingers, unable to fully heal. The monk's smaller hand comes to rest above Yasha’s.

“That wasn’t you Yash…” She cooes and thumbs circles on the back of her hand. “You didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“It won’t ever happen again,” Yasha whispers and shakes her head, shaking loose the tears from her eyelashes. 

“Yasha. It wasn’t you to begin with… I know you wouldn’t do - I know you wouldn’t hurt me on purpose. Or… uh… yknow any of us.” Beau’s blue eyes drift away. “If Molly’s getting fucked with we'll - we’ll get him back.” 

“Yeah… Yeah, we will.” 

“You should get some sleep Yasha. It’s looking like a long day tomorrow.” Beau stands, rubbing her shoulder.

“Your shave is uneven - I didn’t get to finish…” 

“Eh. We could get in a fight tomorrow and burn it all off down to the scalp. It’s not that big of a deal.” Beau flashes a cocky smirk. “If anything - it’s an excuse for me to come back and check on you tomorrow.” 

“I guess it is.”

“Goodnight Yasha.”

“Goodnight Beau.” 


	2. ...Right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The visit to Molly's grave doesn't go to plan, and Beau faces the consequences of their meddling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I going to update every day until this is done? Don't count on it. But with this being a shorter series, it should be done pretty quickly. Keep an eye out for updates! I hope you're enjoying this!!!

Teleporting into the dark and dreary depths of Shady Creek Run, they can instantly taste the sulfuric atmosphere. There’s no fire, no burning - just sulfur, and a dense weighty mist that swathes over them in an opaque curtain. Unlike the mild petrichor and pillows of fog in the rest of the empire, the heavy rainfall leaves the smell of combustion and death in its valley furrow. The wet blanket of thick air sinks over them as the spiral of Caleb’s teleportation spell fades, and they are left only with the saturated soil. 

The stick marking his grave is emptied of his tapestry coat, and the colors around have drained from the landscape. It’s dizzyingly empty, like navigating through anti-gravity. His grave is empty. The road is empty. This crossroads is all hollow and lifeless, stagnant aside from the pattering water droplets. 

The fire comes out of nowhere. It comes out of mouths and burns past teeth. Blood flies in sheets akin to the blades that slash it out. Hands in the Clay of Death, how are they to expect swords in their backs? Who starts a fight at a funeral? 

The battle roars on and the - grieving? - Nein continue on. A voltaic bolt sparks from Veth and holy fire burns from Jester’s hands as they are overwhelmed with dozens and dozens of armored individuals. Bandits? They seem too organized. 

Veth’s short form is submerged with swathes of individuals, obscured as she evades strike after strike. 

Beau swings her staff, cracking into a man’s knee, quickly followed with his face. The nose cracks and turns as he returns to her patiently waiting. Two more bandits approach her, three, four, and she is surrounded as each one tries and repeatedly fails to hit her. She spirals on the floor and sweeps the legs of a few, only to be approached with a newfound passion. There’s a moment where she feels like she’s flying: evading hit after hit and landing strike after strike; and then she stills. Her legs lock in place and stiffen. Eyes widening, she freezes in place. Every strike hits - _Hard._

Anger, rage, pain flourish as blade after blade buries itself in Beau’s chest. The spell fades, but Beau does not rush back into action: she falls limp, her cheek smacking into the dirt. 

“ _Beau_!” Jester shouts and is abruptly cut off by a blade clashing against her armor. 

Yasha steps forward towards Beau, but the blade of a rapier clashes into her, knocking her back and obscuring her vision. She swings and slices through the opponent, cutting above the hip and burying in the spine. Beau’s shouts have silenced by the time she shoves the obstacle off of her greatsword.

“Where’s Beau!?” She shouts over the chaos and Jester breaks free of her opponent, backing up with an explosion of fey unicorns. She lets out a gasp for air and retreats towards Yasha.

“I don’t know! There are so many of them! I - _Fjord_!” Jester shouts and mutters under her breath, a small sparkle of radiance knitting his abundance of gashes tighter together. 

“Thanks Jeste- Ehr!” He shouts as an arrow whizzes past his ear, just snagging the lobe.

One of the gangly men in rusted metal armor rushes towards Yasha, only to scream and shout as the swarming unicorns engulf him and burrow into his eyes. 

“She was right there! I don’t - I don’t know I don’t see her! I can’t find her anywhere!” Jester snaps her head towards Caduceus demandingly. “Caduceus! Do you see Beau anywhere?” He glances around fervently and shakes his head. 

“ _BEAU_!” Yasha thunders over the sounds of battle - and there is no answer. 

After many long minutes of blood-shed, the road somberly quiets with sleep. Bodies litter the floor in heaps as the clerics mend the almost fatal wounds of their companions. Yasha shrugs off Jester’s hand and walks towards a mound of corpses, lugging one to the side as if to uncover something beneath. It slumps over into the foggy mud and she grabs another one.

“Beau?” Veth hesitantly calls into the whistling wind. The echo carries back into the trees and dissipates.

* * *

It’s dark. The cold iron skims her wrists, sending chalky shivers down her spine. Her eyes blink to readjust but never do. She’s sitting on stone bricks that grate on her palms. The door squeals open. 

“You’re awake.” A low voice rolls. It’s nauseating and Beau feels the bile rising. “What? You don’t recognize me? Oh sorry, my mistake. I’ve been keeping a close eye on you - I’ve forgotten it isn’t reciprocal.” His tone is flat, goading, and deep. 

“The fuck?” Beau coughs and curls around her stomach. His silhouette is void of features.

“My apologies, I should formally introduce myself. I am Ionos Jagentoth and I’ve been looking for you and your interfering friends.” He smacks his lips together and she swears she hears the swipe of tongue over teeth. “You’ve been burying your noses in some things that aren’t your business, some of which are _my business,_ and you may have bitten off… more than you can chew.”

He steps forward, the shadows recede and his mouth opens, exposing sharp canines. His eyes are sharp, and long brown hair hangs down over them. The thick scruff of his beard connects to his sideburns. The canine-like angles of his jaw and nose hook oddly, and the thick and musty scent of wet dog pierces her nostrils, which remain dry from icy air. Beau’s brow furrows and he grins widely at her.

“So bluebird, It seems you’ve happened on quite the… wealth of information. Information you weren’t supposed to acquire I may add.”

“Knowledge is an open resource. If you were trying to keep something secret then you just did a bad job of it.” She spits at his feet and sneers. He scuffs it with his boot, stoic.

“So tell me, Expositor Lionett, what knowledge have you gained?” He huffs and she stays quiet. “Ah, sworn to secrecy? But _knowledge is an open resource_ bluebird?” 

She grits her teeth. 

“What’s it to you then?” Her eyes are downcast, scanning her own mind for information. _Jagentoth, Jagentoth. What was that again?_

“You see some of that information wasn’t yours to take, and I want it back.” He hums and pulls out a single white feather. A white feather that conjures up familiar pleasant memories in the back of her mind. Her eyes soften at it instinctively.

“That’s not how this works.” Beau snipes and pulls against the manacles.

“Actually…” He crouches down to her level, chained on the stone floor. “That’s exactly how this works.” 

The white feather drops to the darkened floor like a dream she’s never seen before, and the downy vanes of it spread through the ground like roots. Figures rise up like shadows and solidify into shapes: silhouettes so familiar she could recognize their footsteps in the crowds of battle if she had been blindfolded. 

_“What kind of trouble did you get yourself into this time, Beauregard?”_ Her father’s voice scolds and he steps forward clearly. The hand comes down fast and the shadow of pain pushes her back against the wall. “ _You think I care if you ruin your life? I don’t. We have T.J, we have the winery. I have my fortune already. You just aren’t a part of it anymore Beauregard. You were the piece of it I gave away willingly, and I’d do it again.”_

Beau’s eyes glisten, and she recoils as the shadow disappears into the feather, and more shadows step forward, standing tall over her crumpled body. 

“ _You really thought we were friends Beau?”_ A strikingly familiar Zemnian voice rings out, and Beau presses her back further into the stone until blood seeps through her robes. “ _The Cobalt Soul’s archive is very useful Beau. It is one thing you’re good for. But beyond that?”_ Caleb scoffs. “ _I mean what good is a rebellious rich kid beyond her connections, Ja?”_

“Caleb… you don’t… you don’t mean that?” She blinks away tears, denial seeping into the cracks of her tone. 

“ _Beauregard.”_ He cocks his head to the side. “ _I’m very good at hiding my true intentions. Why would you think you’d be excluded from that?”_

“That’s… not true. Caleb is my friend. He wouldn’t - He wouldn’t use me like that.” Beau stiffens fighting her rising breath.

“ _Oh, but would he Beau?_ ” Yasha’s voice rolls as she towers over her. “ _Who do you think you are to us? You think we care about you? Want you? I had a wife Beau. What makes you think you could even begin to compare?”_

 _“_ Yasha… I-” She stutters and shakes her head. 

_“I mean really Beau? Do you really think it’s mutual? Between us?”_ Caduceus rolls his eyes. “ _We have bigger things to worry about. Gods don’t care about your feelings.”_

 _“Seriously Beau, like… I have a family. A son. Do you really think I want to stay for YOU? Because we’re like what? Friends or something?”_ Veth scoffs. “ _You think I want_ **_you_ ** _over my own son? Maybe you should have just taken the Hag’s deal and walked away. That would fix all of our problems.”_

“Stop. Stop it. This isn’t real. It’s not real. My friends care about me. The Mighty Nein care about me.” Beau whines placing her hands in her palms. 

“Is it though?” He grins and chuckles. His tailcoats hemming brushes the dirt on the ground. “Do they? How well do you really know them Beauregard Lionett?” 

“Why are you doing this?” She shouts and covers her ears to block out the ramblings.

He runs his hand through her hair that has fallen out of the bun with a sneering smirk. Sweat rolls down her neck as she recoils into a wall, unable to run or escape back any further.

“Knowledge is power bluebird.” He stands. “And I am more powerful than you could ever dream of.” 

The door closes and the room fades back into inky shadows, with only the faint outline of the white feather remaining on the floor. Sobs wrack her body, and the taste of blood dribbles from her lip as the screaming silence deafens her. 

* * *

Her dreams do not grant her respite. Her eyes close and before she has time to even drift, her eyes open somewhere else, and she is right-side up. Directly across, purple skin and curved horns catch her attention, drawing her into the growing snowfall.

“Molly?” She wants it to hold, but her voice wavers with hesitation. 

She runs over and places her hand on his shoulder, turning him towards her. The hand snaps back with pained reflex, as though snapping a palm off of a stovetop. His hollow eyes gaze blanky into nothing and his rotten shell crumbles to the ground - limp. With a wet cough, she steps back and dry heaves onto the pure white snow. 

“Well, that’s not nice Beauregard.” The corpse of Mollymauk drawls out in a purr. Her head snaps back around to his body, still collapsed on the snowbank. His head, however, is leaned forward curiously at her. “Why don’t you lie down with me. Have a nice chat. It’s been a long time without conversation, I miss it.” 

“I’d freeze to death.” She gestures at the inches of snow he’s sunken into and he flashes her a toothy grin.

“Trust me, Beau.” It’s not a question.

“I trust you if you’re Molly.”

“I’m Molly.” Her eyes narrow at him and she steps back into the snow further.

“Are you though?” She sinks down to her waist in snow.

“Would I ever lie to you?” 

She doesn’t answer and the cold begins to seep through her robes, sending goosebumps across her arms. He pulls out a deck of tarot cards, the same one that Jester had acquired not too long ago. 

“You should tell me about Eiselcross Beau.” He grins. “I’ve missed so much.” 

“What do you want to know about Eiselcross?” Beau’s toes slowly grow stiff from cold. “I mean you’re there now. Aren’t you?”

Molly scoffs and swats his hand. If he had pupils she’s sure she would see a distinctive eye roll in them. Instead, all she sees is red. 

“I mean you must have put it together by now.” Molly shakes his head. “I’m still dead. Molly isn’t coming back, not this time around at least. Lucien - Nonagon whosit whatsit whatever ain’t me.” 

“You’re still dead.” Beau loosens her taut shoulders, and her face falls. 

“Yeah, and super mean undead not-me is running off into the snow for what?” Molly chuckles and throws up his hands. “I mean what’s even up there? Fuckin’ snow ‘n ice.”

“Fucking snow and ice man,” Beau chuckles. “It’s cold as hell up there. Getting commissioned a bunch of winter wear to help. Jester went crazy and spent a couple of hundred gold pieces for a -” 

“Help with what?” Molly shakes his head. “I mean, I’m sure as hell not up there. What’re you even doin’ there?” He licks his teeth over. “Why in the hells would you want to go up to the fuckin arctic circle?” 

“Well, we got hired to -” Beau shrugs, then flinches.

“Hired? By who?” Molly’s eyebrows raise and Beau stiffens.

“You aren’t Molly.” 

The purple tiefling’s eyes narrow, considering. He clicks his tongue and rolls to his feet. His purple tail flicks the snow. Seconds roll into seconds as he roils with the question, presses it to the roof of his mouth, and swallows. Twin scimitars spiral off his hips and into his hands. Blood drips from his teeth and the grin spreads and sours. Curdled cackling blisters her ears as she feebly tries to cover them. 

“No.” He laughs. “Wow. You share someone else’s face and no one even thinks to question it.” He shrugs. “Well, I mean, you tried. Just fell for old comforts again anyway. You tend to do that don’t you? Fall for old and familiar comforts.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She wheezes out a cold and dry breath, shaking her head violently. 

“Don’t I?” He smiles. “You should get some rest.” Leaning close to her, he breathes thickly - hotly - into her ear. “You’re going to have a long day tomorrow, Expositor Beauregard.”


	3. Deep Breaths, Deep Breaths Beauregard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Heh. Wonderful. Tell me, how does it feel to lose your mind, Expositor? Isn’t your job to keep a hold on that?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch: Angst and torture incoming. Hyped for tonight's episode of Critical Role! I hope yall get to enjoy some of this pre-show angst.

Hours crawl by in the sunken pits of this room. The gashes on her arms and torso don’t heal, her blue and pink cleric friends absent to mend them. Speaking of, shouldn’t she have gotten a message by now? The absence of Jester’s bubbly voice beaming in her ear grinds away her ribcage. Maybe she didn’t make it out either. Maybe secretly… all of her friends are in likewise chambers and hidden. The thought of it rolls her stomach, but she swallows it down. Who knows how long she’d be stuck in here with the floor reeking of stomach acid and bile. 

There’s too much time to think here. Mulling over the conversations that never truly happened, words that were never truly said.  _ Deep breaths. Deep breaths Beau.  _ She closes her eyes, not that the dark of the chamber is any different from the inside of her eyelids. Her breathing shallows as she places her hand's palms up in her lap with a rattle. 

_ Work through your thoughts, Beau. Why might Jester not have sent a message?  _ She inhales sharply and the silence of void rests in her mind.  _ She could have been captured too. Maybe she was bound with those anti-magic shackles.  _ She bites her lip.  _ Maybe this chamber is lined with lead and they can’t scry or message me here.  _ The thought sends her heart plummeting into her stomach.  _ What if they can’t find me here? Where is here?  _ Her eyes open into nothingness, and purse tightly shut again.  _ Of course, they'll find me.  _

She resituates herself.  _ Next thought. Jagentoth. Who is he?  _ Her mind skims over pages of colorful memories and boisterous voices. Chains and smugglers. Hatred takes over the gaps in memories, whether that’s from previous inclination or recent experience, she doesn’t know.  _ Jagentoth. Family name.  _ She inhales.  _ Shady Creek Run. They were competitors with… Ophelia? No no no that wasn’t it, right? More importantly, what do I know that he knows? What does he want?  _ Stiffly her foot shoots out, kicking roughly at the stone with a crack. Searing pain shoots up her leg but frustration overwhelms injury.

_ “Fuck.”  _ She grunts and reaches to soothe the already swelling toes. 

Shady Creek Run is a buried place in Beau's mind. The veil of mountains closes it off from the rest of the empire, her home, where she doesn’t have to think about it. She doesn’t have to think about Molly’s death, being alone, or the Iron Shepherds outside this leaden case of a place. Locked in a - possibly literal - lead room it’s all she has to feed on. 

“What a wonderful night’s sleep it seems you’ve had Expositor.” 

The door squeaks open and the tall silhouette enters the room, the flicker of a lantern held in his palm glowing under his chin. Beau winces at the blinding light, a pattern formed out of the shadow - a paper over it? The spiraling shape draws her in slowly, like hypnosis, and her eyes snap away quickly with fear.

“What is that?” She breathes, keeping her eyes on the darkness. The shadows are all too familiar in her eyes and she longs to look, to see something, but refuses. 

“Look, Beauregard.” He growls. “Tell me who hired you or look.” 

The Unknown is a finicky thing. Research, time, and engagement, all scream at her to look - experience and find out. The Knowing of this circumstance, where the pain is a weapon, knows little knowledge will be gained by looking. Cat-like curiosity tempts her, but logic wins out. 

Predatorial, he grins, teeth bared. Grabbing her chin he pulls the lamp closer and black dots the edge of her vision. She tries to avert her gaze, the prickling moving to burning, then searing. Each time she tries to avert her eyes the light the spiral pulls her back in.

“There isn’t a third option, bluebird.” 

The light brightens and she manages to tear her gaze away, but unable to escape it’s light she is pulled in closer... and closer. The symbol grows and blossoms, shattering in an explosion of wind and screams. 

She screams back and closes her eyes, wind whistling through her ears despite the stagnant air. Her wide eyes stare as Jagentoth opens, and closes his mouth. Wind and screams escape his lips in incoherent noises rather than words. Is he speaking? Can she hear him? 

“What did you do? What the fuck did you do?” She focuses and furrows her brow, trying to read his lips despite the chaos and terror surging through her. She can do that right? Right?

_ Heh. Wonderful. Tell me, how does it feel to lose your mind, Expositor? Isn’t your job to keep a hold on that?  _

Her eyes flit from side to side, hypnotic swirls embedding in her periphery and collecting on top of each other: falling snow from the perspective of the dirt beneath it. A cry bellows out of her chest as meaningless words tumble out of her mouth and are buried. 

After ages and ages, lost and buried in wisps of screams, she shoots upright through the mounds of snow-like spirals and sharply inhales a breath. Empty lungs overfill as though she hasn’t taken a breath in minutes. Her eyes flit from side to side and lock onto Ionos Jagentoth. 

“Have a good time?” He sneers and she spits in his face. Swiftly, he wipes it off and holds up the pyramid lantern with the bronze rim. “Care to tell me now?” 

“What else you got?” She coughs and her face splits into a cocky smirk that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Plenty.” And he spins the lantern to another side, a different symbol shadowed onto it.

“Woah, Woah, Woah okay hold up on that one for a second!” Beau panics and shakes her head, throwing her head back and looking up at the ceiling. “How about we have a more uh… civil discussion? Like about… yknow… what you want? What this whole deal is about?” 

“You know what I want, smart one.” He grins. “Tell me who hired you. Tell me what you know.”

“I just got hired as a bodyguard! I don’t know anything.” Beau shakes her head vigorously, away from the lantern’s symbols. 

“You don’t know anything,  _ Expositor?”  _ He mocks and pulls her head down towards the symbol. 

“Wait! Hold on a second man! It doesn’t have to be like this -” Gasping, the air is slowly pulled from her lungs into the symbol. 

“Tell me something useful.” 

“We’re uh- we’re here looking for an old friend of ours!” Beau shakes her head. Cobalt soul tactic: give up useless information in times of dire need. 

“A friend hm?” He pulls the symbol gently away from her eyes and sighs. “What friend?” 

“Well he’s not our friend anymore I guess - he’s dead but-”

“The one you saw in your dream last night?” He cocks his head and her eyes widen, brow creased.

“Woah dude I get the whole super-smart knowing tons of stuff vibe, but the omnipotence is getting pretty fucking creepy man -” She puts her hands up, chains rattling and he wraps his claws around her wrists. “Okay! Okay! I get it! No dumb jokes. Dumb jokes are totally off-limits.” 

“Answer my question.” He digs a claw into the soft divet on the inside of her wrist, tendon twanging with the pressure. Canine eyes piece into her and his snarl grows into a snout. 

“Fuck man!” She curses and grits her teeth as blood trickles down her forearms. The claw drags along the tendon lengthening the gash. “Oh, hells…” She strains to speak. 

“This could be so much easier for you. It’s not like they would try and protect you.” He prods and she shakes her head.

“You’re wrong. They would. They fucking would and you know it.” She glares into his yellowing eyes as her teeth creak from pressure.

“Do you want them to?” His voice rolls into a low growl, a question that curdles into a threat. 

She stiffens and swallows the developing stone in her throat. Vile rage simmers in his eyes, stubbornly refusing to betray what, initially, seemed to indicate a hollow threat. Stinging, the wound in her forearm grows deeper and more jagged. Footsteps echo in the hall, thrumming an off-pace beat. Her attention draws away from the pain and into fear, coagulated anticipation from boiled blood. A tall silhouette she would remember anywhere hobbles in the door frame; the long braids, brawny shoulders, and large hands digging deep pits in her fortitude.

“Yasha?” Her voice cracks, unable to contain the grief. 

Electricity buzzes and cracks through the tall silhouette, dropping her to her knees with a shriek of pain. It’s distressing, to see a woman of lightning and storms crumpled by the very power she tames and wields. Beau stifles a sob and reaches out to touch her, the chains holding her back. Yasha’s eyes turn up, lit by the static crackle in a vibrant blue. Blue?

“You’re not- wait.” The monk pulls back, shaking her head. “This isn’t real. You’re fucking with me. You’re trying to get in my head.” 

“Are you sure about that?” He clicks his tongue and - Yasha? - wails in pain as fire rolls up her back, fire that Beau swears she can feel it flickering off her face. She lets out a bellow and falls flat onto her stomach.

“Stop it - stop.” Shaking her head, Beau whines and purses her eyes shut.

“But I thought it wasn’t real, Beauregard?” The grin cracks his face open. “Does this feel real to you?” 

A spear jams between Yasha’s shoulder blades, right between the angelic wings. She sputters blood onto the floor and her eyes roll-up.

“Stop! Stop! Stop it please - please.” Beau begs and cries, and the illusion fades, silver dust dissipating until the false image of Yasha has removed itself from the room. “You fucking bastard.” She hisses, spittle scattering across the floor. 

He picks the bronze lantern up off the floor and Beau instinctively flinches away from it, drawing out a long smile from his lips. Tremors shake her body despite her attempts to stop it. 

“Tell me who hired you.” He warns and she grits her teeth, biting back tears.

“No.”

“I will see you soon, Beauregard.” The stoic thrum of his voice beats like a drum in her ears. “You should rest. I will bring worse when I return.” 

The door closes behind him with finality, and Beau releases a long-held breath with a sob.  _ Deep breaths, deep breaths, Beauregard.  _


	4. Favors In Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are the consequences harsher than the causes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta we die like men. It's midnight and I have work in the morning. I loved writing this and couldn't stop so I hope you enjoy reading it!   
> Also for those wondering, I have approximately one more chapter planned. I may split it into two depending on how it flows but we're getting there. Soon!

Is this what dying feels like?

All of the edges of Beau are serrated, flayed open by knives and whips. The worst part lies deeper; a sown seed of terror that lingers in the quiet and the loud alike. It germinates and grows even as it’s fed with poison and death, a weed that can’t be pulled; it’s roots have intertwined with the veins of her heart. The waves of necromancy pulse through her with a lurch as she restrains the vomit that threatens to spill. Instead, bile dribbles down her chin as a cry echoes through the chamber. Her skin tightens around the bones of her hips and tugs, hollowing her sides grey with rot. 

“Stop!! Fucking stop it!” Beau bellows and shakes her weakening arms against the restraints. 

“Who are you working for? What do you know about Eiselcross?” Beau shakes tears from her eyes as flakes of grey and rotten skin separate from her body and float, the sickle of death imprinted in the backs of her eyes. 

“I won't tell you anything.”

“Who are you protecting Beauregard? You could make it so much easier for yourself.” He shakes his head with faux disappointment, his lips curling into a smirk. 

“They care about me, they care about me, they care about - AH!” She mumbles it under her breath like a low prayer, a reminder to herself to stay grounded even as the pain sparks through her.

“And look where it’s gotten you? How long has it been, do you think?” He asks and she remains silent. Time passes too fast and too slowly here. There’s no window to track cycles of the sun and moon, and no clockwork watch to count hours. 

“Do you want to know? Do you want to know how long it’s been? How long have your  _ friends  _ have delayed, and meandered, and forgotten about you?” Beau doesn’t speak. “Three weeks Beau. Where are your friends now?” 

The roar pulses through her lock a shockwave and the lantern rises, a new symbol blistered into the surface. After weeks of symbols, each crafting a new exceedingly more intricate hell than the last, Beau reflexively recoils in fear. He brings it closer.

“One. Last. Chance.” Beau blinks and swallows. 

Is this the one that kills her? She already can feel the thrumming in her knuckles from rapping on death’s door, so she’s confident it wouldn’t take much. One more healthy dose of poison, or another stealing of necromancy. Her mind rolls back to soft flowery fields and storms rolling over hills, then folds and creases into swords in her stomach, and rapturous rage. Shaking despite herself, she tears her eyes away but doesn’t have time to think. She can’t force the betraying words out of her mouth. Even as her lips part to speak, nothing exits; her subconscious recognizing her own buried determination and swallowing her betrayals. 

The symbol burns rather than engulfs, eats, and chews rather than drinks. This time -- it’s teeth. With a convulsion, she lets out a cry, a shout through her tightening windpipe that creaks like a choke. Every nerve rips and tears into thousands, and each sears through flesh and bone alike. Her eyes purse shut and she swears - this is where it ends. In seconds, she’s convinced, her body will stop fighting and will crumple; soon she’ll go cold and her neck will slacken with rest and sleep. But it doesn’t. So Beau screams.

-

The shrieks echo through the halls in a blood-curdling thunder that stops them in their tracks. Bodies litter the floor around them, crimson seeping between stone brick corners. Some of them have legs missing, gashes in the neck down to the spine, or burns across their face; even they did not scream like this. 

Yasha’s shoulders tense, and even as more guards floor after them from behind, her focus does not shift. Her feet carry her forward, each step echoing and cracking like lightning. 

“Yasha. Yasha.  _ Wait.”  _ Jester’s hand grabs onto her shoulder as footsteps rattle down the staircase behind them. 

Caleb, gaunt, and littered with scrapes and bruises runs down the stone steps followed by Caduceus and Veth. Their eyes are wide, brows furrowed at the shrieks that pierce and ruin their eardrums. The voice is raw and strangled, unrecognizable. They all lock their gazes as Yasha shrugs Jester’s hand off her shoulder. It has to be Beau. 

The door is shut and locked tightly, no grate, no gaps between. Behind it, the screams rip through the thick veil. Yasha shakes the metal handle, but it doesn’t budge. 

“ _ Veth.”  _ The words crack out - dangerously close to a beg. The thieves' tools jam in the intricate lead lock and fiddle, it jams for a moment and Veth takes her quivering lower lip between her teeth before popping it with a  _ click.  _

The door swings open and a cry streaks - louder without the barriers - through the room. A curled-up shape on the ground quakes and trembles, scratching at wounds that aren’t there. Red lines scrape along her throat from fingernails dug in too tightly. She writhes and her eyes are wild between empty points in space. 

“Beau?  _ Beau!” _ Yasha cries and places her hands gently on the woman’s shoulders. 

The warm glowing light runs over her skin - but her form still jerks and trembles. Another shout leaves her lips and Yasha helplessly looks over her shoulder. 

“The healing didn’t work - I don’t know… what…” Tears roll over her eyelids and Jester covers her mouth before stepping forward. 

“I don’t know what it is.” Jester shakes her head.

Caleb’s hand runs over planar circles, tracing silver lines under his palms. His eyes flash with a low glow for a moment, then dim, solemn worry plastering his face.

“Jagentoth… is an incredibly proficient spellcaster. She’s under the effect of… quite a few spells right now. Powerful ones.” He closes his eyes in thought. “Healing didn’t help?” Jester shakes her head, teary-eyed. 

“I… I think I know what this is.” He tries to cast another spell but it fizzles into his palm with a crack. “We’ll have to wait it out. If it’s what I think it is… It should last a minute. This must have been recent.”

“Then Jagentoth has to be close.” Fjord’s grip tightens around the Star Razor and his teeth bare into a scowl. 

“Not necessarily. I think this may be the spell Symbol - meaning certain circumstances could trigger the effect. Such as unauthorized entrance without a code word. I - I don’t think he’s here.” 

Yasha wraps her arms around her, holding her as she writhes and cries out in blind pain. Misdirected agony buries Beau’s fingernails into the fabric of the shawl covering the large woman’s shoulders. A hum of a melody reverberates through the air just above her head, a soothing melody that cracks at the edges worming its way through the veil. Droplets cascade down Yasha’s cheeks and into Beau’s hair. Slowly the jerking slows and ceases. 

And then, there’s silence. 

Beau slackens into her grip, still clutching loosely to the fabric of the shawl. Her heavy breaths shallow and she leans into Yasha’s chest silently. 

“ _ Beau?”  _ Yasha whispers. “ _ Are you okay to walk?” _

Beau doesn’t look up, remains buried in the shawl without a word of recognition. Yasha’s eyes flit back to the group, whose attention has shifted to listening for guards outside. 

“We have to go Beau.” Yasha pushes a little harder and begins to try and help her to stand. 

Weakly, Beau’s legs buckle and she groans, but Yasha catches her and wraps her arm around her waist. The Nein hobble past crimson and down the hall. 

“We should go.” Caduceus nervously glances over his shoulder. “This is bad. We did what we came here to do and we got Beauregard back - we shouldn’t risk -”

“There’s just as much danger the opposite way Caduceus. We should at the very least try and get her items back. I still can teleport us if need be.” Caleb’s brow is furrowed.

Caduceus closes his eyes for a moment and then looks on at the ginger-haired man. Well-intentioned enough, he cares about Beau and wants her safe; buried beneath that, Caduceus can taste the rage: an incubating virus of revenge. Caleb’s eyes are focused and his hands tremble, heat blistering off of them even though he hasn’t cast a fire spell in minutes. Secretly, Caduceus wonders if he wants to find Jagentoth. Drained of nearly all spells but filled with anger, a fight with a powerful mage and lycanthrope would be a bad idea, yet he watches the craving for it rise in the wizard’s eyes. 

Caduceus nods slowly.  _ “Okay.”  _

The door swings open to a spiraling set of wood-slatted mahogany stairs; books line the walls in lines of color that blur together as focus draws up. Caduceus waits expectantly for the sideways glance at a book spine from Beau or Caleb, but Beau’s eyes remain unfocused and glazed, drifting to the floor, and Caleb’s are locked upwards, towards the platform above. 

They march up the stairs, Beau’s foot catching on the lip of one as she nearly falls. A low cry escapes her lips before Yasha scoops her up into her arms. Beau’s hands wrap around the back of her neck. As the platform pans over their vision, exposing the office above, the emptiness of in leaves Caleb’s sweet tooth for rage aching. 

Jester plucks up the Bo staff from behind his desk, mounted on the wall like a trophy. Each begins scavenging for loose ends of Beau’s personal belongings, which have been scattered as though they were his own. Caleb pads through papers on an intricately carved desk, tossing random sketchy notes to the side. His hand settles on a bronze lantern, still glowing warmly against his palm. 

A rough and incomprehensible shout escapes Beau’s lips. A scrambling of syllables and prefixes that don’t fit together escape in a cry as she shields her face away from the lantern. She closes her eyes and buries them into Yasha’s shawl. Safety holds and blinds her from the item.

“What?” Caleb’s eyebrow cocks upward and he loosens his grip on the lantern, placing it back on the desk beside an array of fine tools and dust. “Beau, what did you say?”

The low shaking of sobs into Yasha’s shoulder serves as the only response. Caleb pauses a moment, considering, before seating himself in front of the lantern. His eyes glaze over and he spells out sigils in the air with a low muttering. After a few minutes of gathering and looting items, he pulls out of the spell with a gasp.

“It was Symbol.” He stands up and backs away from the lantern, eyes wide. “Is that why you’re afraid of this Beauregard?” 

She doesn’t answer, and Yasha nearly melts with concern. 

“Beau?” He asks, and this time his voice cracks of confidence, exposing the hesitation beneath.

“ _ Beau,”  _ Yasha whispers into her ear. 

“We need to go. Now.” Fjord huffs, gripping Star Razor with bleached knuckles. Caduceus nods beside him. 

“We have everything we need. We should get out so we can help our friend.” Calebs eyes drift slowly as though bouncing from one thought to another. A soft hand grasps his shoulder, snapping him out of the cascading dominos of emotions. “Jagentoth has not seen the end of us. Goodness cannot be tampered with without consequence.” 

He sharply nods and begins tracing lines into the pristine wood with chalk dust. 

* * *

Yussa’s teleportation circle hums to life and then blinks into darkness. The Nein clutch each other in the dreary room, tired eyes and bodies sagging onto the platform. 

“I thought you had begun sending messages upon your arriva- oh.” Yussa gasps and steps forward. “You… look dreadful.” 

“That would be an accurate evaluation.” Caleb steps off the portal. “Sorry I - thought this would be the best place to go and we were short on time and spells.” 

“It’s… fine. What happened to you?” His hand hesitates to rest on his shoulder and guide him down and hovers just above it instead. 

“We - it’s complicated. I just - It might be useful to have another wizard to help with this…” Caleb winces and turns back to Beau. 

“Friend, I have a suspicion, but I am going to need you to help me out here if you can.” He places a palm on Beau’s shoulder. “Can you say my name for me? Say ‘ _ Caleb is a scumbag’.”  _

Beau’s eyes dart between his, glassily. The moments pass, no one willing to break the silence and prove a point before ample opportunity has been granted.

“That can’t be Beauregard! Beau would never pass up an opportunity to insult one of us.” Veth finally hisses with some hesitation.

“What do you think it is Caleb?” Caduceus tilts his head sadly.

Caleb’s head bows down and he glances between Yussa, Beau, and Yasha. The elven man gives a long blink and a nod.

“I think our friend has either been driven mad - or she’s been Feebleminded.” Silence casts over them.

“Feebleminded?” Yasha whispers and tilts her head. 

“It’s an incredibly powerful spell, I - I cannot cast it yet. Many use it to halt spellcasters but in our friend’s case, It may have been a means of limiting her knowledge and... specifically communication. She cannot convey anything to us nor understand us - if I’m right of course.”

“Can we fix it?” Jester’s hands shake and her eyes warble. 

“We should be able to - it is temporary. Probably a means of keeping something from us a little longer? A delay. Or…” Caleb hesitates. 

“What?” Fjord’s teeth are grit tightly, tusks peeking out above his lip.

“Well, we know Jagentoth took her for her ability to root out problems. Her intelligence. I don’t know how much he may know, but we know how much she values that. To have it taken… may have been a way to hammer one last nail into the coffin.”

“Coffin? Like - she’s going to die?” Veth shouts and Caleb raises his hand.

“No, it's not - like that. Feeblemind steals away your intelligence, your words, your personality. It can even take away your own thoughts. In the case of Beau, he may have been trying to spoil her willpower to pursue him and his goals. Burying his loose ends - metaphorically of course. He was torturing her after all. What for otherwise? What did she know that he didn’t?” 

Jester fiddles with her thumbs. “How temporary? What can we - how can we -”

Yussa pipes up. “Unfortunately fixing this is… not something I am capable of. Although it was a good idea to bring her here. A Greater Restoration can reverse this. Although without it, it would be thirty days at a minimum -”

“Thirty days?!” Jester shouts. “Oh oh no. I can’t cast it right now I’ve cast too many -”

“I can’t either.” Caduceus softens.

“No worries, no worries. It doesn’t need to be cast immediately. Rest up, I can provide the components for you in the morning.” Yussa nods and turns to head off to his quarters. “Be gentle with her. Unconsciousness and trauma don’t mix well.”

“Why would you help us? We don’t have anything to offer in exchange.” Fjord holds up his hands and bites at his cheek.

Yussa stops in his tracks and sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Many of us have our own grudges against Jagentoth. But - aside from those - I trust should I one day find myself in need you will return the courtesy. A hundred gold worth of diamonds and a bit of aid is not hard for me to conjure up - a favor in kind?” He smiles gently. “Those are harder to come by. You can rest in the chambers upstairs if you’d like. Some arcane protections never hurt anyone.” 

“That is rather generous of you,” Fjord stammers out. “I believe I’d be speaking for all of us when I say that offer would be graciously appreciated and accepted.” They nod.

“Wonderful, then rest well. I’ll be down first thing in the morning with the components for your friend.” 

Yussa stalks off up the stairs, his shoulders rolling as the tail of his robe lingers behind his. He halts midway up and turns sharply.

“And, trust me, despite your impatience and eagerness, you and your friend both will appreciate an extra hour or three of sleep.” His eye twitches and he jabs his finger at them with each following syllable. 

“So. Do. Not. Wake. Me.”


	5. Will You Hold Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting Beau back won't be easy, but after won't be either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH This is it bois!!!! I hope you enjoy it! I wrote all of this at like midnight so - rip school tomorrow. Recommend listening to Words by Gregory Alan Isakov while you read - explanation in End Notes.

“What the hells is that supposed to mean?” Jester huffs and her shoulders sag with mock exaggeration.

“Which thing?  _ Do Not Wake Me?  _ Or a favor in kind? I felt like those were pretty self-explanatory, Jester -” Fjord’s hands gesticulate widely to the staircase where Yussa had disappeared. 

“Not  _ THAT  _ Fjord! Mhm. Unconsciousness and trauma don’t mix well? How vague can you get?” Jester’s brow is furrowed tightly. “I don’t know how this spell works at all! How do we help Beau until the morning?” 

Fjord blinks. Then blinks again. 

“I should just go ask him and find out.” Jester places her foot on the first step of the staircase and Fjord grabs the drapey sleeve of her arm tightly. 

“You absolutely  _ should not.  _ He said not to wake him.  _ That _ was pretty clear.” He huffs.

“Well, he’s not asleep  _ yet  _ Fjord! It’s only been like - a minute!” She nods to herself. “I’m just going to ask him really quickly what we should do -”

“Stop.” Caleb exhales and waves his hand. “I know enough to get Beau through the night. And unconsciousness and trauma weren’t referring just to the spell, Jester.” 

The blue tiefling lets out a heavy breath that wavers at the edges. Puddles of eyes glance down to the floor in a saturated acceptance. She nods slowly, her bottom lip quaking as she meets Caleb’s gaze. 

“ _ I… I know.” _

“Our friend has gone through a great deal. More than any single spell can encapsulate. Emotionally, she is not very steady and will need support.” Caleb places a hand on Yasha’s shoulder. “So we will be there to give it to her. It’s a good thing that actions speak louder than words, ja?”

Caduceus nods knowingly watching the lanky man with curiosity. The unkempt hair and clothing have tucked themselves in, his legs don’t shake beneath him anymore, and his shoulders are straight rather than sloped with exhaustion. Confidence doesn’t blister under his skin and charm doesn’t bust out in a bard-like song, but a gentle love peeks out from under his eyes, and a comfortable smile breaks through.

“It is,” Caduceus smirks back with a low nod. 

Yasha thumbs a small circle into Beau’s shoulder as the woman leans into the crook of her neck. The warm slow breaths serve as a reminder -  _ she’s still breathing.  _ She chews nervously at her lip and looks down to Beau, who has loosely drifted into sleep. Weeks of sleepless nights over the blue-eyed woman all finally added up to rest. Yet, Yasha had never felt more awake. If only she could carry Beau upstairs and lay her down, curling up beside her and falling asleep. She probably still could, but in this state, she worries of abrupt awakenings and words that don’t make it through.

“How?” Yasha whispers. “- Do we get her through the night - I mean. I don’t want to startle her. How would we calm her down?” 

“She still knows who we are. Still recognizes us. The same way she was comfortable enough to fall asleep in your arms.” He gestures to Beau in her arms with a faint smirk. 

“That’s not to say she won’t get startled or have lapses. In those cases, be careful with physical touch. She hasn’t been treated kindly as of late and without being able to verbalize it, we have no way to know if she’d want that. Try and refocus her on something familiar. With me, I -” Caleb pauses and swallows. “My flashbacks to trauma, I mean, It often helps to change the surroundings drastically. Light up the room - maybe not with a lantern in this case, - play some music, do a magic light show, read something - anything to change the environment from what is upsetting her or familiar.”

“I hate to say it, but this will probably far extend past the spell. Simply, it’s going to be a lot tougher tonight because it is so fresh, and our communication is so limited.” Caleb lets out a long sigh. “I’m not sure which would be the better arrangement: all of us together with her for company or limiting it to a few.” 

“I don’t think any of us want to leave her, Caleb.” Jester softens.

“I’d have to agree.” Veth holds up her arms and her voice cracks softly. “Chaos crew sticks together.”

“The  _ Mighty Nein  _ sticks together.” Fjord nods. “We should all be there. If something happens we can all do our part to help her.” 

The single room is cramped up. There’s only one bed in here, but no one protests as they roll out their bedrolls on the wood floors. Yasha gently lays down Beau on the bed and steps back to find her own place on the floor. A whine exits Beau’s mouth and her hand remains clutched in her shawl. Caduceus lets out a gentle chuckle.

“That - would be some clear communication.” He says as he settles down. 

Caught by Beau and locked into place, Yasha shoots a glance over her shoulder to Caleb, her eyes pleading. Fantasizing about Beau’s small arms wrapped around her waist and her nose nuzzled into her collarbone, she shakes her head. No. She has to be accommodating.

“Yasha, If Beau wants you to lay with her, you can.” He holds up his hands in faux defense. “Not to assume you want to or anything, but if so, letting the body language she  _ can  _ convey be recognized could be a good thing.” 

Yasha slowly eases onto the bed, so as not to startle the woman lingering in half-sleep. She doesn’t bother to pull up the blanket, let alone the sheets, too afraid of waking Beau to bother. Instead, she stiffly lays beside her, fighting the desire to reach out. The lights blink out suddenly as Caleb whispers a goodnight, plunging them into darkness.

The darkness is comfortable: a much needed quiet after weeks of shouting and rage. The low snoring from the pillow beside her eases her worn and stretched heart. Worry consumed and ate at her, and now it lingers in the way butter melts; Instead of hard curd, it has dispersed and softened, still marinating in the heart but no longer impeding it from beating. She renders further and further down into the mattress, and into Beau’s grasp. Her shoulders bend in closer to the reaching hands until they no longer stretch for her; her knee slowly slackens, allowing itself to graze against Beau’s thigh. Slowly, Yasha melts down into a much-needed rest.

It doesn’t last.

Screams pierce through her ears, unintelligible medleys of phonics and half-words. Immediately she shoots up straight, the fight or flight of being a member of the Mighty Nein setting in before her memory; the shouts only grow louder in response. Snappily, glowing blue orbs shoot up into the air, lighting up the room. Blue highlights the sleep-glazed eyes of their friends as they wake, Beau’s, however, are wide with attentiveness, gaze drifting wildly through empty space. Rapid breathing nears hyperventilation as she heaves for oxygen.

“Beau, Beau, it’s okay. You’re safe.” Yasha whispers nervously and glances back at Caleb with apprehension. 

Gently she pulls back the covers that had gradually intertwined with their legs and backs up. Slowly, she unfurls her white feathered wings and hums a sugary melody. Euphony dissolves into uncommon and foreign words, although their ears tuned to listen. Celestial verses dribble through the room and echo off the walls despite the softness in which they are vocalized.

_ Words mean more at night _

_ Like a song _

_ And did you ever notice _

_ The way light means more than it did all day long? _

_ Words mean more at night _

_ Light means more _

_ Like your hair and your face and your smile _

_ And our bed and the dress that you wore _

_ So I'll send you my words _

_ From the corners of my room _

_ And though I write them by the light of day _

_ Please read them by the light of the moon _

Beau’s breathing levels out as the song progresses, her eyes refocusing on Yasha’s and holding unwaveringly. Jester claps silently from the floor.

“ _ Yasha! That was so pretty!”  _ She whispers harshly into her hands with a smile.

“Is she alright?” Fjord worriedly glances between Caleb and Yasha.

“I think she will be.” Caleb’s smile warms like a fireplace over Yasha. “She is lucky to have you.”

In celestial under his breath, Caleb whispers, “ _ You should tell her when you get the chance. Our time here is finite. I think that’s been proven too much as of late.”  _

Yasha melts back into the bed as the lights blink out once again. This time, awake, Beau curls herself tightly against her, her hands crossed over the back of her neck. Her warm pinkened nose touches the soft recess in Yasha’s neck, and the larger woman gently rests her chin on her head, pulling back to feather a kiss to her forehead. 

“ _ You’re home, Beauregard.”  _ Beau hums into her collarbone with a pleased murmur and sinks in closer. “ _ I’m glad you came back” _

Daylight seeps in faster than any of them would have liked. As much as Jester curses to admit it, the extra sleep was good for all of them. Their midnight extraction mission had left their bodies crooked and beaten. Although fights are their forte, everyone needs the time to heal and recover. 

Beau stirs in Yasha’s arms, purring warmly against her throat. Dawn blooms gold through the curtains and over their skin. A warmth bronzes their flesh, leaving morning goosebumps in their wake. 

“Good morning Beauregard.” Yasha hums into her ear.

Beau’s eye twitches and she lets out a long jaw-locking yawn. The rest of the Mighty Nein had slowly risen, gently pulling their legs out from under outstretched arms and relocating them so as not to wake each other. Jester, wide awake, sits cross-legged on a leather ottoman with a giddy grin and a tray of pastries, jelly leaking out from their creases. As Beau’s eyes finally open, Jester beams and holds one up proudly.

“I’ve got breakfast!!! Pastries for everyone!” She leans out to hand one to Yasha as the barbarian sits up in bed.

Curiously, she accepts and holds it out to Beau as she sits up. Jester holds the tray out as Fjord plucks one up.

“Pastries? For breakfast?” Fjord questions, the glaze sticking to his fingers in a tacky mess.

“We had a long night - and Beau had a rough couple of weeks” Jester huffs in response. “I’ve been saving them for a celebration,” Her hands fly up over her head in exaggeration. “And what better thing to celebrate than getting Beau back?!”

“For breakfast?” Fjord repeats, now with a joking smirk on his face. Caleb gives him a weak punch in the shoulder.

“Be a good sport.” Caleb scoffs. “I think it is perfect, Jester.”

“ _ Thank you,  _ Caleb.” Jester hums and takes a bite, purple jelly dribbling over her lips.

Beau takes a dreadfully slow bite - then closes her eyes with a groan of pleasure. She shoves the rest into her mouth, drooling at the corners of her mouth, and greedily holds out her hands for another. Jester’s brow furrows and she holds out another pastry, now covered in powdered sugar. Beau snags it and devours the second. 

“Oh, Beau. Maybe we should get something of a little more… eh… sustenance soon. I hadn’t thought about - when was the last time you ate?” Jester asks the question sadly, head drooping at the obvious rhetorical. 

“We can go to the Lavish Cheateu for breakfast after Yussa. She should probably not eat too much at a time right now in case she gets sick-” Caleb’s eyes look up in thought as Beau reaches for a third fist-full of pastry. “Ah- Beau that’s a bad idea.”

She rips through a third pastry before Jester pulls back the tray with a sigh. Beau whines and reaches out again, as Yasha rubs circles into her shoulder soothingly.

“I’m sorry Beau. I’ll give you more later.” Jester hums and rolls up the remaining pastries in their paper. She holds up her pinky in the air in front of her. “ _ Promise.” _

“We should go downstairs. Yussa is probably ready, and I would really like to hear our friend here speak again.” Caleb stands, clutching his hip and wincing as he does. 

Shambling down the staircase, they burst into the dining room, where Yussa sits at a table sipping a cup of tea. His eyes flit upward, then back to his cup. Taking one long slurp before they reach the table, he sets it down with a  _ clink.  _ Their eyes wide with anticipation, Yussa gently palms a small bag onto the table and pushes it towards them.

Jester snatches it up with a high pitched -  _ Thank you, thank you! -  _ and starts rustling through her pockets with fervent passion before plucking up her holy symbol. 

“Of course, I’m happy to help.” He winks without a trace of a smile, and gold flecks sparkle in his irises. “Just do me a favor…”

Fjord gulps in anticipation, biting his cheek nervously as Yussa waves his hand through the air in circles. The elven man takes one lazy sip of his tea and bows his head lightly towards the door.

“... and get out of here. Your friend woke me last night, not that that’s her fault obviously, but I’d like to have some alone time. I’m exhausted and I’m sure you can guess how much that will improve my disposition.” He dryly scoffs.

All but Beau nod in aggressive unison before rambling out the door, shutting it a little too forcefully behind them. Caduceus sighs and opens it to peek his head in with a smile and a ‘ _ Thanks’  _ before he is swiftly pulled outside with the rest of them.

“Should we go see momma?” Jester sparkles and Caleb swiftly nods before stepping towards the street, leaving the stone tower behind.

Beau clutches tightly to Yasha as people flood and filter around them. The screeching of cart tires grate her ears and she winces away. A pedestrian fumbles and drops a stack of books with an echoing  _ Thud.  _ The flinch doesn’t miss Yasha’s eye and she hums the song from the night prior gently into her hair. Beau seems to soothe, although her shoulders hitch upward and her breath catches at every loud racket. The Lavish Chateau comes into view after a few minutes, and Jester rushes to the door ushering them quickly in.

“Upstairs, quick, quicklyyyyy! We should get to my room so we can have some privacy!” She pushes open the door, exposing a crowded foyer, the smell of bacon wafting through the room. “Oh! Hey Bluud!” 

Beau’s eyes widen and she leans away, gravitating towards the rising smell of bacon. Fjord shakes his head and gently pushes down her arms.

“Beau. No, no, no. We  _ know _ you’re food driven but now is  _ not  _ the time.” Fjord’s voice warbles as he tries to convince her with words she can’t understand. She lets out an incomprehensible moan of displeasure and Yasha plucks up a piece of bacon for her, which she eagerly devours.

“I thought we were supposed to keep her from eating?” Veth squeals and waves her hands at Yasha. “Caleb said -”

“One piece of bacon won’t kill her - and… she’s happy now. I mean, look at her.” Yasha stammers as Beau rips a piece of bacon with her teeth, eyes closed contentedly. 

Caleb shrugs and Jester ushers them quickly up the stairs, un-pocketing the bag of diamond dust. The bedroom door swings inward and Jester waves at Marion in the hallway, lingering in the doorway. Marion clasps her hand over her mouth with a gasp.

“You’re back - you got Beauregard back! Oh my, why didn’t you send me a message?” Marion rushes over, clutching the hemming of her dress.

“Oh momma!” Jester wraps her arms tightly around her mother’s neck but quickly releases. “Come in, come inside. I ran out of spells! We uh… had some technical difficulties.” 

“Technical?” Marion walks into the room behind them as Beau scarfs down the last bit of bacon, licking her greasy fingers.

“We’re fixing it - we’re fixing it!” Jester affirms, holding up her hands with gritted teeth. “Just - a liddol thing! Fixing it! Right now!”

Jester plops criss-cross apple sauce on the carpet and waves Yasha and Beau over with a frantic -  _ Sit! Sit! -  _ and un-cinches the bag. Her finger draws into the bag - sparkling as she withdraws it - and drops onto Beau’s forehead, dragging down to the tip of her nose as she squints and recoils with a discontented mumble.

_ “Stawp Beau. _ ” Jester whispers. “I’ve got you.” 

Beau’s shoulders slacken slightly, and Jester mutters under her breath the hymns of the spell. Hands massage into the taut muscles between Beau’s shoulder blades, loosening her beneath. The glow blooms beneath a blue fingertip, sparkling and scintillating against bronze skin. Radiance outshines her eyes, so she winces them shut until splotches burn through her eyelids. 

The inhale breaks, sharp and sudden as Beau snaps backward into Yasha’s arms. Thoughts flood and saturate darkened corners of her mind, fettering her impulses back into place and her memories behind her eyes. Perceptions dart between past and present and she gasps, clutching her heart. A hand touches her thigh and she claws at it, earning a cry of pain in response.

“ _ Beau, It’s us.”  _ A low, hauntingly familiar voice echoes in her ear. “ _ We’re here. You’re safe.” _

“Beau, can you hear us?” Caleb’s Zemnian accent rings true in her ears, the tuning fork buzz dulling, and she relaxes.

“ _ Yes _ ,” She chokes out in a stifled cry. 

Her unfocused eyes blur with tears, and she can see Jester across from her, clutching her hand in a shy smile. Caleb stands a distance back, smiling sadly, and Fjord awkwardly twiddles his thumbs from behind the blue tiefling. She hates how weak the laugh is that bellows out raw and ragged with sorrow.

“ _ You came back. _ ” She chokes and wipes the tears from her eyes. She shudders at the vulnerability but weakens into it.

“Of course we did Beau.” Jester leans forward, slightly more hesitant, and places her hand on the floor in front of Beau. “We love you.”

“I love you guys too.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t - I didn’t think that you were - that you were gonna find me -”

“I don’t know what that piece of shit made you think - but you could get thrown into Pandemonium and we’d come to get you.” Veth jabs her finger at Beau with mocking aggression. “uh - don’t make a plan of it though. Please.”

Beau laughs wetly and nods. “I won’t any time soon.”

“Good.” Jester laughs. “We missed you, Beau.”

Beau catches a glimpse of the gentle red staining the carpet beneath the blue girl’s hand and gasps, covering her mouth. “Jester! Did I do that? Oh, God’s did I hurt you? I’m so sorry -”

“Shoosh! It’s fine! I’m fine! See?” She rubs her hand over the wound and it fades into her skin. “All good! Good as a goodberry!”

The warm reminder of Yasha against her back grabs her attention. The barbarian’s hands gently skim over her skin, too afraid to push despite the monk having thrown herself into her grip only moments prior. Beau melts into her hands and lets out a low sigh.

“I - Yasha.” Beau shakes her head, unable to stop the electricity flashing in her vision. She turns her head to meet Yasha’s hesitant gaze. “It’s - It’s  _ really  _ good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Beau.” Now, her hand gingerly reaches up to the back of the lithe girl’s head. “You never got to come back to check up. Your shave is still uneven.”

“Can we fix it tomorrow?” Beau hums in soft discontent before leaning into Yasha’s shoulder.

“Now, I hate to ruin this moment…” Caleb thumbs his hand, eyes darting between the two nervously.“... but, what did Jagentoth… want? Will he come back for it?”

Beau’s eyes darken at his name and she closes her eyes. Shadows loop in her mind - half visions of silhouettes and teeth and arcane light. Her knuckles blanch as she gouges half-moons into her palms.

“I-” She hesitates, phantom pains ringing through her like nails on a chalkboard. Gulping down her fears she nods. “Lucien - De Rogna… I think they’re connected - somehow - to Jagentoth.”

Caleb’s brow creases in thought, but no one speaks so she bites her lip and continues. “Jagentoth hired The Iron Shepherds, remember? And they were slavers and smugglers, right? Well, remember how I. J. was smuggling something to the Tumblecarves in Uthodurn and Uthodurn has relics from up north? I think he’s been leading voyages up to Eiselcross looking for Aeor. I don’t know why… he wants it so bad… but I think… he was trying to throw me off his tail. Expositor and all.” She gives a halfhearted shrug. “I uh… had a bit of time to think before he yknow - uh.”

“What do Lucien and De Rogna have to do with that?” Fjord tilts his head.

“Well uh, he was talking about ‘ _ getting his information back’  _ or something. He asked who I was working for and then… I had a dream. Molly - Lucien was trying to get information out of me, and then Jagentoth knew what I had told him in the morning.” Beau shakes her head. “I don’t know. But I think if we keep following this… he’s not going to drop it. Whatever we’ve gotten ourselves into… it’s big.”

“Aren’t all the things we get ourselves into big?” Veth chuckles and shrugs.

“We’re going to have your back, Beauregard. No matter what.” Caleb nods and Beau shakes her head vigorously and holds her hands up defensively.

“Wait wait wait. We’re not… continuing to pursue this? Right? That’d be dumb.  _ Really  _ dumb. We’re dealing with cults and God murderers. That’s like… off the table. Right?” Beau grits her teeth.

“We’re the Mighty Nein!” Jester mimics Kiri’s disposition. “Beau, we’re gonna fix all the things and stop all the bad people. That’s our job!” 

_ “Tell me, how does it feel to lose your mind, Expositor? Isn’t your job to keep a hold on that?” _

Beau’s head sags, eyes drifting to the floor. Wearily, she shuffles to her feet. Leaving Yasha’s arms and shifting beneath their eyes.

“If that’s the case… can we do our job another day?” Beau scuffs her toe against the carpet.

“Of course!” Jester beams. “I think a day or two of rest is needed anyway.”

They begin to filter out of Jester’s room and into the hall, where Marion begins leading them to spare bedrooms. Caleb’s hand gently grabs Beau’s shoulder, holding her back for a moment. He turns to face her with pale eyes, delicately examining her.

“They don’t all get it. Not like you and I do.” He huffs. “What it’s like to be scourged and have your own soul manipulated against your will. To have your own thoughts and feelings messed with.” He carefully places his palm against her cheek. 

“If you want to talk about it, you can come to me. I’d be happy to lend an ear and a shoulder. Ja?” 

“Thanks, Caleb.” She smiles and brings him into a light hug. “I love you, man.”

“I love you too, Beau.”

* * *

Night comes way too quickly. Briefly, she’s thankful for the unconsciousness of Feeblemind the other night, the darkness not setting into her mind. As the shadows stretch and blanket over the streets and into the windows, candlelight doesn’t do it. Silhouettes and shadows form shapes and people, so she shakes her head and purses them shut. The images pierce though anyway, replaying on the inside of her eyelids like a projection. 

_ You really thought we were friends, Beau? _

_ You were the piece I gave away willingly, and I’d do it again. _

_ You think we care about you? Want you? _

_ “ _ No-no-no-no.” Beau shakes her head in the darkness candlelight sparking behind her eyelids. “Stop it.”

A knock resounds through the whispering words, snapping her out of the flashbacks with glazed eyes and a trembling lip. Frantically she tries to wipe tears away, leaving her eyes a raw irreversible red. 

“ _ Come in.”  _ She coughs, trying to cover the cracks in her voice with a sore throat.

Yasha sheepishly opens the door, remaining in the doorway with flighty feet that hesitate to step further in. The candlelight glows over her heterochromatic eyes, a familiar swampy and magenta.  _ Not blue. _

“Hey uh, I know you said you’d be fine alone tonight - but I just wanted to check-in. If you - you know - _wanted_ some company but just didn’t want to say it… I uh… I’m worried about you. So if you wanted some company - I already said that sorry uh…” Yasha stammers and Beau looks up, eyes soft and lips curving upwards warmly.

“Do you _want_ my company?” Beau all but whispers. 

“I - I do want to stay with you. Of course only if that helps you - I don’t want to get in the way of your alone time if that’s what you -” Beau cuts off her ramblings.

“I’ve spent too much time alone these past few weeks.” She shyly glances away into her lap. “I… I do _want_ some company - uh - your company.” 

“Oh- Oh-kay.” Yasha debates stepping closer, nervously lingering.

“Hey, can I ask a favor?” Beau whispers.

“Depends. What are you asking for?” Yasha mutters under her breath, raw. 

Beau's shoulders slump into comfortable exhaustion and she lets out a long and warm exhale.

  
“ _ Can you hold me?”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The Celestial song lyrics are from Words by Gregory Alan Isakov. Highly recommend a listen! Especially during this chapter :3


End file.
